


Too Much

by anneapocalypse



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if messing around with the King’s right-hand man wasn’t enough of an indiscretion - complicated by a whole mess of feelings he’d sort out later, damn it - Sergio had let something slip to Pacer that couldn’t possibly have been a good idea. That thing about being taken by a couple of sharply-dressed men wasn’t a particularly weird fantasy, true, but then he also hadn’t expected Pace to do anything with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stpitbull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stpitbull/gifts).



> Written for stpitbull. There was a bet involved. Originally posted on tumblr.

Sergio of the steadiest hands this side of the Colorado was none too pleased about the way his hands were shaking as he raised one to knock at the King’s door.

When Pacer had caught him in the hallway and muttered, “C’mon up to the King’s room tonight. We’ll _both_ be expectin’ ya,” Sergio’s stomach had flipped and then tied itself in knots.

And damned if he could understand what all this meant. It was bad enough trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him and Pacer - Pacer who’d fuck him against a mirror in his own studio and then act like he didn’t exist around the other guys, and he wasn’t actually sure he minded, since whatever else Pacer was good for it wasn’t socializing. He had a mouth on him better suited to starting fights, extorting visitors, and well - other things - than to chitchat.

Even while getting his hair done, he didn’t say much. Which had always seemed sketchy to Sergio - what kind of person doesn’t talk to their stylist? If there was one person who knew the Kings, hang-ups and issues and all, it was Sergio. Happy to give a friendly piece of advice, too, when it was needed - like giving Bobby some tips on hooking up with that sweet courier kid who’d been rolling through town regularly. (From the follow-up report, that had gone _superbly_ well.)

Even the King, all grace and the picture of modesty, could chat Sergio’s ear off while having his hair done - and Sergio was thrilled to listen, too. To anyone, but especially the King. He could listen to that low, smooth, pleasant drawl for - well, forever. Though he wasn’t sure he should look too closely at his feelings about a man more than ten years his senior. A man who’d more or less saved his life. Not that he’d been so bad off, not yet anyway, in that he hadn’t succumbed to Jet or been left for dead in an alley yet, but, well, in Freeside it was just a matter of time. Unless you were a King. And even then, life offered no guarantees.

Pace on the other hand, he was all sullen quiet. Not that he wasn’t gorgeous in his own way, from his sulky eyes to that husky voice, but you could see why the King was the King: he _liked_ people. Conversation picked up in a room just by him walking in. He had a way of looking you in the eye and asking a question about _you_ that made you feel like the only person in the room. The only person on the planet. Just as he’d done with Sergio the first time he met him.

‘Course, he made everyone feel that way.

Pace wasn’t what you’d call a people person. Sergio wondered whether Pacer actually liked anybody, besides his oldest friend. Doubtful. Probably didn’t even like Sergio. Well, maybe his ass, but not the rest of him. He’d take what he could get.

Because what he _wanted_ was unthinkable so he’d always figured it was better not to think about it and now he was standing in front of this door, mind racing to the point of immobilizing him.

_Just knock, stupid._

 

It was Pace who opened the door, welcoming him in with an unsmiling nod. Sergio barely saw him. The King was seated in his favorite chair by the window. Noticeably absent was Rex, his beloved cyberdog, a near-constant presence at his side.

He looked up as Sergio entered, and unlike Pacer, _he_ smiled. That warm, lopsided curve of his mouth, the little crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, all that hit Sergio right about the same moment it started to sink in what he was here for.

If it weren’t for those eyes, he might’ve turned and run.

But Pacer was at his back now, hands on his shoulders, guiding him forward until he was right in front of the King’s chair. Never one for formalities. Before Pacer’s hands started to undress him, he fleetingly wondered what, exactly, Pace had told the King this was all about.

And what, exactly, the King had said.

But there wasn’t much time to think before his jacket was unzipped and stripped off, and Sergio felt vaguely like a doll as he raised his arms over his head and let Pacer pull his t-shirt off, closing his eyes because the feeling of those blue eyes on him was a little too much, and also because Pacer was biting his neck now and that was pretty nice. That was Pace, wouldn’t kiss but would put his mouth pretty much everywhere else. Not that Sergio had ever had reason to complain about where he put that mouth.

A hand tugged at his belt, and it wasn’t Pacer’s hand. Sergio’s eyes flew open to see the King leaning forward and _oh Jesus_ unbuckling him and this felt backward, the King’s long fingers working carefully, the way his eyes lifted to meet Sergio’s as if for confirmation before tugging his belt free of the loops in a smooth, slow motion.

It was almost too much, being looked at that way. And it seemed like Pacer agreed, bending to give him a particularly sharp bite just above his collarbone, making him jump, and dragging him backward by his hips, away from the hands that had moved to his zipper and muttering, “Get your shoes off.”

 

As if messing around with the King’s right-hand man wasn’t enough of an indiscretion - complicated by a whole mess of feelings he’d sort out _later_ , damn it - Sergio had let something slip to Pacer that couldn’t possibly have been a good idea. That thing about being taken by a couple of sharply-dressed men wasn’t a particularly weird fantasy, true, but then he also hadn’t expected Pace to _do_ anything with it.

He didn’t know whether to be amused that Pace just assumed he qualified (sure, he looked pretty sharp in that jailhouse rocker, no denying that), or terrified at how quickly he’d made the jump to the King’s crisp white jacket.

In hindsight, it was a pretty obvious tell, wasn’t it?

Sergio had sharpened up for tonight himself - his cleanest pair of jeans and whitest t-shirt, the Kings jacket he’d earned just a few months back and was so damn proud of, though he hardly ever got a chance to wear it because it was so warm upstairs where he worked, and he didn’t want to get product on the leather anyway. His hair looked _fantastic_ , too, if he did say so - but his hair was the thing he was always careful about. You can get away with a lot, fashion-wise, if you’ve got great hair.

 

Sergio fell to one knee in an almost dizzying relief, eye level with the King’s knees, so close he could smell a faint trace of polish off his shiny black shoes. His hands were shaky again as he tugged apart the laces on his own boots and kicked them off. But when he lifted his head, the King’s eyes were still on him, and his hand came to rest on Sergio’s hip as he straightened up. Beautiful hands the King had, long graceful fingers and nails Sergio always spent a little extra time on for him, just enough to make them look neat but not fussy, because fussy wasn’t the King’s style. Not even that suit he wore, that tailored white jacket over a sharp black dress shirt with the top button undone like it was, drawing Sergio’s eyes as it always did. You put that jacket on Pace, he’d have looked fussy. The King, though, he might as well have been born in it.

The King’s hands were back at the fly of Sergio’s jeans and he felt suddenly underdressed - silly thing, as he was about to be _un_ dressed and fashion the least of his concerns. Unbuttoning and unzipping with assurance, his blue eyes rising to meet Sergio’s again for confirmation - _Lord why did he have to be such a gentleman?_ \- the King dragged his pants down carefully, letting him step out of one leg and then the other. He felt Pacer at his back again, hands on his hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his underwear and tugging it down. Sergio was half-hard and not sure whether to be embarrassed that he was so far already, or that he wasn’t all the way there yet. And Pacer returning to nip at his ear sure helped, but not so much as when Pacer backed off him and said, “Why don’t you get down on your knees again and put that mouth to work, huh?”

His stomach tightened with nerves at the same time heat rushed straight to his cock. This wasn’t even something he’d let himself get more than a few seconds into imagining, not even when he was sucking off Pacer and wanting it not to be Pacer and _for fuck’s sake stop thinking_. Pacer retreated as far as the pool table, leaning back on it like he was about to light up a goddamn cigarette, and only the sharp attentiveness of his eyes belied the bored expression he maintained.

When the King looked up at Sergio it was those eyes that looked naked, warm and open, and that lopsided smile made something tighten in his chest _._ The King’s hands pulled his face down - not to kiss him, as he stupidly almost expected, but to murmur in his ear, “You want out of this any time, you just say the word, a’right? I mean that. _Any time._ You don’t want this, you can walk outta here right now.”

Sergio could only nod, words choked in his throat at the gaze the King fixed on him, the gentleness of his voice, and then it was all a little too much and he dropped to his knees.

Instinct and practice took over, even though his hands were still shaking a little as he undid the King’s belt and his black dress slacks. A cock was something Sergio knew his way around - unlike those too-kind-for-words blue eyes. Granted, being face-to-face with the cock of the man he practically worshipped wasn’t an opportunity he’d ever fooled himself into thinking he’d get, but here he was.

And the King had a _fucking beautiful_ cock, a nice length and on the thick side and uncut and with the slightest curve in the way it stood - and he was _wonderfully_ hard, pulsing in Sergio’s hands as he pulled him out. Sergio was pretty all right with his own body, but this was _the King_ he was naked in front of, and it was gratifying to feel his usual confidence wasn’t misplaced as he slid back the King’s foreskin with his hands, deliberately keeping his eyes low and far away from the man’s face.

“I ain’t gonna say we ain’t got all night,” Pacer spoke up, still managing to sound bored despite the obvious bulge in his own pants, “’cause we do, but you plannin’ to get down to business anytime soon?”

“Sounds like someone’s getting impatient over there,” Sergio purred, gaining more confidence in familiar territory. “You’ll get your turn, sugar.” _You’ve had your turn, actually. More than a few turns._ “Don’t go rushin’ me.” Pacer snorted.

There was a slight breathlessness in the King’s resulting chuckle, though, that told Sergio that yes, it _was_ about time he got down to business, and he ducked back down to swirl his tongue around the head of the King’s cock before taking him in his mouth.

A shiver ran down his spine to hear the King sigh, and then his first real moan, a new sound in a familar voice, warm and beautiful in an almost surreal way. More surreal was the scent of him - mildly musky in a freshly-washed kind of way, a faint smell of soap mingled with the heady, intimate scent of _him_. Wilder still, the taste of the King’s precome on his tongue. Sergio closed his eyes, sliding his lips down to take the King deep into his throat, earning a deeper groan. One of those beautiful hands passed over his hair, lightly so as not to disturb his style, and Sergio actually felt a brief moment of regret at doing himself up so nice the King was reticent to mess him up. Had he been feeling a little bolder he’d have told the King he was _totally fine_ with having his hair pulled, but as he wasn’t the one directing in this particular production, he kept quiet and just enjoyed the caress of gentle fingers traveling down along his jaw as he pulled back, sliding his tongue along the King’s length and around the tip before pressing back down. He felt fingers more firmly against the back of his neck, right at his hairline, and he made an encouraging noise and moved faster, only to feel hands on his shoulders that weren’t the King’s hands, pulling him back, pulling him off. He let the King’s cock slip out from between his lips with a wet _pop_ and whipped his head around to fix the culprit with a glare. “That’s just _rude_ , honey.”

The King let out a deliciously breathless laugh. Pacer just snorted again and gave Sergio’s arm a tug, jerking his head in the direction of the bed, unzipping unceremoniously before he’d even gotten seated on the edge.

Sergio knelt between Pacer’s thighs without putting up a fight. The night was still young. He’d barely gotten going on Pace, though, when he felt hands run along his hips, and then down over his thighs, a warm, firm touch, and the King murmuring, “Don’t let me interrupt anythin’ here,” as he settled in behind him – he’d come up so quietly Sergio hadn’t even heard him.

As his hands came to rest on Sergio’s ass, he was too busy noticing the texture of those hands against his skin – those long fingers, and the broad palms still bearing the faint callouses of a harder life – to think about for what purpose, exactly, those hands were spreading him open. He more or less stopped thinking altogether when he felt the King’s mouth against him, tongue sweeping hot and wet over his opening and _oh god._ Sergio moaned around Pacer’s cock and felt the fists in his hair tighten. Lost in the sensation of that hot mouth, the slow, languid movement of lips, he struggled to focus, to match each delicious stroke of the King’s tongue with his own attentions on Pacer, muffled keening sounds building in his throat.

He must’ve slowed unconsciously, because an impatient tug on his hair forced Pacer’s cock down his throat again. Sergio placated him with a deep swallow, taking advantage of the resultant slackening of hands to pull off completely, dragging his tongue hard along the underside on the way. “Pace, honey, you are _incorrigible_ tonight, you know that?” He felt a hot burst of breath against wet skin as the King laughed out loud, face still in his ass, sending prickles of delight up his spine. “It was my understanding,” he crooned up at Pacer, doing the full-on eyelash-bat that he knew annoyed the piss out of the man, “that I was here to get fucked by a couple of _gentlemen._ Only one man in this room’s livin’ up to that name right now, honey, and it’s not you.”

Pacer grunted. “You talk too much.”

Sergio released a shuddery breath, losing his cool for a moment as the King’s tongue dragged hot against his ass again, but regained his composure and managed a smirk. “You’re welcome to find someone else to suck your cock if you think anyone can do it better, sugar,” he shot back, licked a stripe right up the underside and swirled his tongue into the frenulum until Pacer hissed and gripped his hair again. Sergio took him back in, sucking softly and then harder, heat building in his gut at Pacer’s hands tangling tight in his hair, at the sound of his groans, at the fervent attentions of the King’s mouth, until the ache was almost too much and he freed up a hand to give himself some relief.

Before he could even reach for his cock, a hand yanked itself from his hair and caught his arm. “Who’s bein’ impatient now, babe?” Pacer chided breathlessly. “You come here to get fucked or what?”

Sergio pulled off Pacer’s cock in a long, dramatic drag. “I did say that, didn’t I. You planning on getting down to business anytime soon?”

The King rubbed his hip and let out a quiet, pleased laugh. “We’re gonna take care o’ you, honey. Don’t y’even doubt it. Y’have my word.”

Pacer yanked Sergio’s hand back up onto his thigh and arched an eyebrow, not at him but at the King behind him. Sergio glanced over his shoulder to see the King’s face, and something about the look that passed between them seemed too familiar, seemed like this wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this. Not that he’d be surprised, really.

“That so.” Sergio dragged his fingernails along Pacer’s inner thigh, drawing a shiver. “So who’s going to be first, hmm?”

Pacer snorted. “Who said we’re takin’ turns?”

Sergio’s stomach flipped again. Or maybe that was his heart.

“‘F that’s what he wants.” The King ran a hand along his thigh. “That what you want?”

_If I have to share you, honey, I’ll take whatever you’re offering._

“Oh, I’m in, honey.” Sergio fixed his eyes on Pacer, reached up and cheekily popped open the first button on his black-and-white striped shirt, then the next, and the next, and tracing his fingers along the trail of dark hair down his abdomen. Pacer shrugged out of his upper layers impatiently and moved to free himself from his trousers, and Sergio rolled his eyes. Seemed there were a few aspects of this fantasy Pace wasn’t one-hundred-percent clear on.

He decided he’d show him how it was done, turning around to face the King, who was watching him with an amused glimmer in his eyes. Emboldened in ways he that would’ve dissolved in an instant had he let himself stop to think about them, Sergio slid his hands under the King’s jacket, nudging it off his shoulders. The King’s mouth quirked up warmly as he shrugged it off, and Sergio’s deft fingers moved to slip the first black button out of its hole, and then the one below. Slower than he had with Pacer, taking time to savor the fact that _he was undressing the King_ , down the last black button, and then his hands underneath and against the King’s bare skin, over his broad shoulders as the shirt fell away. Moving down to the black pants, he took a certain amount of delight in the fact that the King hadn’t bothered to zip up again.

Behind him, Pacer coughed pointedly. “We gettin’ down to business here or what?”

 

Neither of them took the time to throw back the crimson coverlet, just sandwiched Sergio between them on the crushed velvet, soft and slippery against his skin, and two hot naked bodies on either side of him, two sets of large hands exploring him. Lying face-to-face, he was suddenly struck by how the King seemed…not smaller, he was still taller and broader than Sergio, but…somehow more _real_. How their bodies lined up. How his skin was bare and warm, the soft layer of dark hair over his chest. How his chest moved with his breathing. How his breathing was heavy. How tender his hands were, wandering Sergio’s chest, his hips, his thighs, and the thrill of his touch was almost overwhelming. Almost adoring, those hands, flooding him with feelings he wasn’t even remotely ready to define. Not here. Not right now.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock when the King kissed him, a firm but gentle kiss, as if testing the waters. As he responded, the King’s mouth opened a little more and Sergio followed instinctively, greeting the soft brush of tongue with his own.

Pacer at his back was far from a passive observer at this point, trailing kisses over Sergio’s neck and shoulders, followed by sharper nips and full-on bites, as though to keep him reminded of his presence, and Sergio felt a brief twinge of guilt at how wrapped up he was in the King, how lost in kissing him, how entranced with the hands wandering over his body. He acknowledged Pace by grinding his ass back against his cock, and Pacer rewarded him with a nip in that spot right under his ear where he went kind of crazy for being kissed. No one could accuse Pace of having a bad memory.

Pacer broke away for a minute, and Sergio was too occupied to put much thought to what he was up to, but gasped suddenly against the King’s mouth as Pacer’s hands returned to him, pushed his leg up so that his knee was hooked over the King’s hip, and pressed two slick fingers into him. Sergio’s mouth slipped away from the King’s for a moment and he moaned as Pacer’s thick fingers worked into him with practiced motions, impatiently because that was Pacer, but the King had guided Sergio’s face back up and was kissing him again, slow, the contrast of rough fingers and gentle lips setting his nerves jumping.

He couldn’t help letting more whimpers escape when after a few minutes Pacer withdrew and pressed back in with three fingers, twisting and spreading, stretching him until he couldn’t focus on the kissing anymore, couldn’t do anything but moan into the King’s shoulder. At the particularly sharp sound he made as Pacer pressed all four fingers into him and then spread them on the outstroke, the King murmured, “Easy, Pace.” Pacer grunted, not slowing.

It was Pace who entered him first, pulling his fingers out and taking a moment to get himself ready before passing the container of lube to the King, lining up against Sergio’s ass and pushing in, smooth and easy after prepping him so good, Sergio pressed back against him for more friction, taking his cock deep, all the way to the thick base.

The King trailed his fingers down along Sergio’s jaw and cupped his face, eyes meeting his. “Sure ‘bout this?”

“Yes,” Sergio replied with certainty, hooking his heel behind the King’s thigh, pulling him in closer. _Yes yes yes._ _Want this. Want you._

When the King began to press in, even Pacer inhaled sharply at the sudden pressure against his cock. Sergio heard a tight, sharp sound escape his throat, and the King paused, sheathed just past the head of his cock, and brushed his thumb over Sergio’s parted lips, asking, “Too much?” Sergio could barely manage a shake of his head, a ragged gasp of, “No.” _Not too much. Never too much._

And the King pushed slowly, slowly all the way into him, the stretch even more intense than Sergio could’ve anticipated, and even after Pacer’s prep it still burned pretty fiercely, but the King all the while rubbed his hip soothingly and murmured, “Breathe, baby, breathe for me. We got you, just breathe.” And even Pacer was pressing kisses into the back of his neck, hands running up and down his torso, holding still inside of him, until they were both of them fully inside, both of them, filling him fuller and tighter than he’d ever imagined, holding him enveloped between them, wrapped in their skin and their heat and breath and sweat and it was almost too much except it wasn’t, it was _perfect_. Sergio let out a soft cry into the King’s jaw where the King was holding his face in a tender hand, and the King brushed his lips against his cheekbone and murmured, “Just let us know when you want us to move, honey.”

“Yes. Yes. _Please_.” He’d never heard his voice get quite like that before, never sounded quite so pleading, but he couldn’t mind, couldn’t care as the King started to rock his hips gently against him, shallow thrusts because of his angle, and so gentle, the barest movement and yet dizzyingly intense, and Sergio cried out again and Pace started to move in him too. His vision swam and he closed his eyes, seeing stars, bright shocks of light against his eyelids, pain and pleasure and need mingling and filling him and overwhelming his senses.

He was suddenly aware he was gripping the King’s shoulders so hard he’d probably leave marks, but the King didn’t seem to mind, tipping his face up for another kiss. “Think you can come like this?”

“Yes, god yes, just need-” But the King was already offering Pacer his hand over Sergio’s shoulder, letting Pace spit in his palm, and once again that sort of look in the King’s eyes - though Sergio couldn’t see Pacer’s face - spoke familiarity, something shared before - and then the King was snaking his hand down between their bodies, wrapping around Sergio’s cock and giving him long, steady pulls, the wet friction combining with the feeling of both of them rocking into him in a storm of sensation that overwhelmed him again, and Sergio closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against the King’ shoulder, panting, pleading, and _oh Jesus yes_ a hand was tangled and tugging at his hair now, probably Pacer’s. The King said something over his shoulder that he didn’t even catch, but Pacer’s thrusts sped up, and Sergio moaned, descending into hoarse gasps as he came in hard, hot spurts against the King’s stomach.

Pacer lasted just a minute or so longer, and before he could pull out (he was the one of those guys who tended to stay hard for a minute or two after he’d come), Sergio with what was left of his energy seized the King’s hip and pulled him in tight, and the King, bless his heart, didn’t second-guess the invitation but thrust into him hard enough to come himself, spilling hot into Sergio with a groan.

All three of them lay panting for a minute before Pacer, and then the King, pulled out. The King wrapped an arm over him and Pacer, and Sergio relaxed into the warmth of both of them, satisfyingly sore and drenched in sweat and completely exhausted and not sure he could move even if he wanted to.

It might have been a minute or ten - his sense of time was hazy - when he vaguely felt Pacer move, felt his weight leaving the mattress, and heard the King: “Y’ain’t cuttin’ out on us, Pace, are ya?”

“Y’know this part ain’t really my thing,” Pacer said curtly, gathering up his clothes. “Figure I’ll leave it to the two of you.”

“Suit yourself.” The King folded his arm back over Sergio, pulling him close and tucking his head against his shoulder, one hand stroking lazily through his sweat-damp hair while the other hand rubbed soothing circles into his lower back.

Sergio lifted sleepy eyes to watch Pacer dress himself brusquely, running a hand over his hair before heading for the door, where he paused, looked over his shoulder, and Sergio could’ve sworn he _winked_ before ducking out.

He closed his eyes, feeling his eyelashes brush the King’s collarbone. Pace didn’t always make sense and right now nothing needed to make sense and anyway he was too tired to think about it too much.


End file.
